NightMare
by CheesyWaffles
Summary: The humans have shown their true colors. Years of condemnation and hate have shown a young girl that there is no one left for her to trust...save for possibly the one who hates the humans as much as she does. Kami/Nightmare/Siegfried, T for violence.
1. Forest

The haunting call of an owl slid through the night air, blending into the ambient noise of the darkness

The haunting call of an owl slid through the night air, blending into the ambient noise of the darkness. The trees, standing silently on each side of the small dirt path, rustled restlessly as a cool breeze disturbed their leaves. The shadows twitched and danced, creating and instantly destroying images which flickered across the ground. One of the shadows fluttered and stretched outward from the tree line, but failed to dissipate as its brethren did.

The soft moonlight struck the shape, spilling over its now-apparent contours, and revealed it to not be a shadow at all; rather it was a small figure, draped in a long black cloak and making its way toward the path which marked the division of the two sides of the forest. The shape paused for a moment, looked up and down the path, and started toward the west. As the cloaked figure trudged down the little road, its footsteps were quickly obliterated by the shroud which dragged along behind and left a shallow trough in the dust.

A soft _crack _echoed from somewhere distant, giving the phantomlike character a moment's pause. The hood swiveled towards the path leading in the opposite direction and hung its gaze there a moment, soundless. After a few seconds, the hood turned back and upward, towards the moon. From within the darkness shined a faint glimmer of an eye, scanning the starry sky slowly, almost without purpose.

The moment ended as quickly as it had begun, and the vagrant resumed its journey. Another distant snapping sound pierced the silence, and the figure's pace quickened. Had it known what was to come, the drifter would have broken into a run.

Regardless, it was too late.

The soft noises which had seemed so distant just minutes ago suddenly erupted into a cacophony of shattering horror. The figure flinched and turned just as a tree behind it exploded, sending fist-sized shards of bark flying through the air like splintering bullets and the ancient branches hurtling into the ground. Instinctively, the shadowy form threw itself toward the ground just as a huge slab of metal sliced the air where it had been standing. The brutally sharp edge barely caught the figure's back as it fell, ripping the cloak away like paper and sending a thin veil of red liquid to splatter against the dirt.

The uncloaked figure gasped harshly and sprawled into the dirt. Coughing dust, the individual that could now be identified as female quickly rolled into a ball and sprang to her feet, which shook with adrenaline as she stared into the blackness just beyond the destroyed tree.

She appeared young, in her late teens at most, and stood at about five feet tall. She could be considered attractive, though possibly not in the most traditional of senses; she had a somewhat thick build resulting from the combination of her height and the fact that she was much more muscled than most women. In short, she had the look of someone who had been forced to fight to survive.

Her head was draped with a violent shock of bright red hair that flew in numerous random directions and fell about halfway down the back of her neck. Two crimson braids fell down the right side of her face, seeming out of place among the bed-headed mess of the rest of her hair. Her face was slightly rounded, and freckles were scattered across her cheeks and short nose. And that ended the normalcy of her appearance.

Sprouting from the hair of the left half of her head were two small horns, each slightly curved and pointed. Her eyes were a glowing shade of yellow and resembled cat's eyes in that her pupils were vertical black slits rather than circles. Also like a cat, the eyes seemed to shimmer and take on an eerie glow in the moonlight.

The girl's clothes were similarly unusual. She was dressed in a frayed black kimono that at once seemed to small and too large for her; the front of the dress was closed low on her chest, revealing a wrapping of cloth bandages which encircled the lower half of her torso and restricted the more "feminine" aspects of her figure. The left sleeve of the outfit was slightly longer than her arm, so that her hand was hidden within. The cuff of the sleeve was embroidered with a design resembling red and yellow flames. The right sleeve was simply missing; it had been ripped off just below the shoulder.

Below her chest was tied a large blue sash, tied into a bow in the front and decorated with sewn cherry blossoms. Under this was the lower half of the kimono, which acted as a skirt and came about halfway down her thighs. The same bandages that wrapped her chest created makeshift undergarments below that.

A small trickle of blood ran down the back of her leg, and she shivered in the now piercingly cold night air.

"Who?!" she shouted, her voice high and hard. "Who attacks me?! Show yourself!" Her voice went up sharply and cracked as she spoke.

The darkness of the forest grunted and heaved a tree at her.

The girl's eyes widened and she managed to move almost an inch before two hundred pounds of wood slammed into her like a runaway horse. It hit the girl diagonally across the chest, knocking the wind out of her and breaking two ribs in the process. Upon impact, her body flew backwards until she hit the ground once, bounced, and rolled to a stop like a ragdoll about fifteen feet away from where she had been standing.

Her prone body shuddered and coughed, and a little more blood was added to the forest's soil. She tried to push herself up and take a ragged breath, let out something that sounded like it was trying to be a scream of pain and failing miserably, and collapsed in a small cloud of dust. The girl's chest rose and fell weakly, indicating that she was, for now at least, breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the forest's blackness, and the creature that now began to emerge from it.

It was a man, and a gigantic one. He appeared at least eight feet tall and was wrapped in a thick layer of bulging muscle. He was dressed like a barbarian, with huge leather belts strapped across his chest and a belted loincloth around his waist. His bald head bulged with pulsing veins, and two milky white eyes peered at the comatose girl from over a thick metal mask that covered the lower half of his face. A six-foot battle axe hung from one of his colossal hands and drug through the dirt as he walked.

The beastly man let out a laugh, a deep, rasping growl that emanated from the depths of his massive chest. Without changing his pace he hefted the axe above his head, spun the blade around, and slammed the weapon into the ground with enough force to bury it to the bar and send a tremor through the ground. His grip on the axe released and it stayed where he left it. Now standing directly over the girl, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her kimono's shoulder and picked her up like she weighed nothing at all.

The girl strained to face the brute and opened her mouth to spit in his face. A fist twice as large as her head smashed into her cheek, causing her vision to flash white before coming back, albeit noticeably more blurry than before. When she was focused enough to see anything at all, she could tell that the monster was now sneering wildly. Without warning, he reeled back and buried the fist in her stomach.

Just a little more blood.

The girl's body refused to allow her to slip into unconsciousness. As a trickle of blood ran down her chin, she managed to jerkily return her face to his. The man looked somewhat surprised at first, his brow furrowing. Then, suddenly, his face broke into what could only be described as pure malevolent elation. That laughter, that horrible laughter, came roaring back as the barbarian grabbed the other shoulder of her dress. The girl squeezed her eyes shut tightly and gritted her teeth.

"_Give me your soul…_"

The huge man's grip lessened but did not release, and a strangled noise leaked from his throat. Cautiously, the girl opened her eyes and, despite the pain involved in the action, took in a sharp breath. The point of a gigantic blade hovered just centimeters away from her nose, its base erupting from the man's chest like a stalagmite. The thing shone red in the moonlight, but not simply because of what was covering it; the back of the object was covered with a strange fleshiness, almost as if whatever it was had a life of its own. Then, with a sudden, wet noise, the point withdrew and disappeared into the man's chest.

The girl felt the burly hands completely lose their grip and she dropped back to the ground. Somehow, she managed to keep her footing once she landed; she stumbled slightly and managed to look up again just as the man's gigantic frame slumped thunderously to the ground. Her vision was far too blurry and swimming to make anything out reliably, but the last thing the girl saw before drifting off was a warrior; a knight, clad in shining blue armor, with a huge sword gripped in his hand.

The girl had no recollection of staggering forward and pressing her face against the knight's cold, metal chest.


	2. Encounter

Supposedly, he had no reason

Supposedly, he had no reason. Reportedly, he had no purpose.

Many things were thought about the creature known only as Nightmare, but very little was known. Legend had it…well, legend had it a number of ways, very few of them correct. Some though he was a serial killer. Some believed he was an old warrior, driven mad by decades of war. A cynical group of noblemen believed he didn't really exist at all; that he was a myth created by fearful little villages, perhaps to frighten the children into submission.

As said before, very few of the stories were anything close to the truth. How could they have had any bearing, when all of those who had actually _seen_ the creature of legend never lived to tell of it? Anything "known" about the enigmatic figure was either hearsay or fabricated altogether.

Indeed, had the truth been known, Nightmare's reputation would have been far greater than it already was. The only fact that had ever been truly correct related to his appearance; the man was known to be encased in a suit of blue armor. From this description, Nightmare had earned his second name: The Azure Knight.

Night had fallen on the silent forest like a sanguine blanket. The time of day, however, had no significance to the creature that made his way down the irregular dirt path, soundless save for the rhythmic clanking of his armor. From head to toe he was clad in dully shining blue armor edged with gold-colored lining. His helmet had a pointed snout and two wing-like pieces of metal jutting from either side of the top of his head like rabbits' ears. A thin, curving visor opened the faceplate, but the inside was to dark for the man's face to be seen.

One part of his body was unprotected by the metal shell, but, indeed, it seemed to have no need of it. The man's right arm, if it could still be called that, was greatly malformed; the skin was rough and a dark, mottled brown color. Rock-like spikes sprung out of his shoulder and a short distance down his arm, some at least a foot in length. The arm itself was twice as thick at the shoulder as it should have been, and grew steadily down its length until it ended in a huge, three-fingered claw. The entire thing looked more like a mutated growth than an arm; tendrils of brown flesh slithered over the breastplate of the armor like roots.

Rounding out the ensemble was an enormous meat cleaver of a sword which the knight grasped in his claw. From the end of the hilt to the tip of the blade, it was about as tall as he was. The shape was crude, basically consisting of a staff-like handle connected to a large triangular blade. The metal edge was cracked in places, revealing that it had made contact with more opponents' weapons than any sword had a right to.

The sword was not simply large, though. Where there was not glimmering steel, there was…flesh. Down the middle of the blade was a pulsing, organic mass of squirming veins, from the tip to the handle where the meat twisted and fused with the metal. An oversized, bloodshot eye stared out from the beginning of the blade; it was not fake.

The monstrosity trudging down the path looked like the very commander of the armies of hell.

The beast known as Nightmare walked slowly but purposefully, his iron boots leaving deep prints in the dust. His sword's eyeball twitched to and fro, scanning the dark outlines of trees on either side, looking for something. The snapping of wood could be heard in the distance, causing him to quicken his pace. The one he was seeking was nearby.

It was not long before Nightmare was alerted by the sound of a tree being shattered by something huge and powerful. He not only heard the sound, but felt it – he felt the energy of the destruction and raging strength of the one who had caused it. His entire being thrummed with hunger, but he slowed his gait for a moment. He had just seen the small shape huddled on the ground before him. Strangely, he had not sensed its presence.

The knight then saw, from a distance, what the girl would see up close: the huge barbarian Nightmare knew as Astaroth erupting from the treeline, then his picking up and subsequent ravaging of someone who appeared tiny compared to his massive bulk. The knight steadily made his way forward until he stood just behind the giant man. He raised his sword, spread his legs, and growled a salutation.

"_Give me your soul…_" he whispered before unceremoniously thrusting his weapon through Astaroth's spine. The golem could only gurgle in response as his life was taken. As the fearsome man died, Nightmare felt an overwhelming surge of pleasure flow through his arm and spread across his body. This one had housed a strong soul indeed.

The great man toppled, and Nightmare would have simply moved on – but the other one was still here. Surprising, he thought, that Astaroth would have toyed with his prey so. Foolish, though he could not have supposed the now-dead warrior to have possessed an overly large amount of intelligence. But it was no matter; her soul was weak, and that made it all the easier to consume.

Nightmare was about to advance on the girl when she did something no one had ever done before. He had seen this pitiful species flee in fear, plead for mercy, even attempt to fight back with their tiny weapons. He had seen humans simply drop to their knees and beg for a quick death. What he had never found was a creature who willingly came to and embraced him the way this strange girl did.

What a stupid little creature.

Coolly and without emotion, the knight reached down to the unconscious girl and grabbed her neck with his gauntleted hand. Lifting her limp body as if she were a doll, he wrapped his hand fully around her throat and began, steadily, to squeeze. Soon enough, her breathing became belabored. She coughed, once. At that moment, the moonlight pierced Nightmare's helmet, revealing one cold, red eye.

The helpless girl began to gasp for breath.

Then the voice came.

Nightmare had no conscience. There was not a shred of morality, mercy, or kindness in the entirety of his being. He existed for one purpose, and one purpose only: to feed. More specifically, to feed the sword he carried with him. The "weapon" was not simply that; it was a creature, a living entity that thrived on not just the lives, but the very _souls_ of those it slew. It was called Soul Edge, and it cared for only two things: power, and its never-ending hunger to increase that power. The sword was, for all intents and purposes, pure evil, and Nightmare was its puppet. To feed his demon, the knight had spared no one.

Ever.

Until the voice came.

At first it was barely there, the smoke of a whisper in the back of his eroded mind as he lifted the trembling human skyward. Then, as his vice-grip began to tighten he noticed it; a stray thought that seemed not his own, nor that of the sword. That thought started to increase, slowly at first, then surging through the clouds of darkness that made up his mind like a waterfall. The voice was his own, but different somehow, and consisting of but one word.

"_**No.**_"

The sword's evil attempted to block it out, but the thought was too strong. It hammered to the front of Nightmare's mind, slamming against the inside of his blackened skull. A battle raged in his mind, the clashing of two armies' weaponry creating a clamor of intense volume, rising and rising to a crescendo of noise and light and pain. The knight did not feel his entire body begin to shake, nor did he hear the rattling of his armor. He did not feel his grip on the girl's neck release or see her limp body fall in a heap at his feet.

He only felt, heard, smelled, saw – _tasted_ the other, as his scream tore Nightmare's brain apart.

Then it was over. The knight had no recollection of what had just happened, only that he now knelt, one knee on the ground and propping himself up within his giant fist, and was staring at the nearly lifeless body crumpled before him. Noticing his arm, he realized that he had let go of his sword.

Why?

He did not know why. What he did know was that there was something else in his mind. Not the voice, no, thankfully that had dissipated. What was left was his own thought; it felt odd, somewhat out of place, but it was his. It was an idea.

Why – it seemed so obvious now – why not use the girl to his advantage? Soul Edge had done it before; influencing a human mind, forcing them to fight and kill for it, then taking their soul when it was most ripe. There was no need to kill this girl just yet – her soul was weak and powerless. When she awoke, it would take no effort to convince her that Nightmare had "saved" her life; Astaroth would have surely killed her, had he been given more time.

Her life was his for the taking. How delicious.

Without another thought, the knight slung the unfortunate creature over his shoulder, picked up his sword, and walked into the shadows of the forest.


	3. Memory

In the depths of the forest, an unknown distance away from where she had been knocked out, the girl awoke with a start

In the depths of the forest, an unknown distance away from where she had been knocked out, the girl awoke with a start. The surprise of her own consciousness caused her to let out a little gasp, triggering a wince at the pain stabbing at the inside of her chest. Breathing shallowly now, she opened her eyes and attempted to look around, but wherever she looked she saw nothing but a canvas of black. A sudden stroke of panic gave rise to the thought that she might be dead; that would have made sense under the circumstances.

A moment's contemplation dispelled that suspicion, however. She realized she was sitting, upright, with her back against a tree; she could feel the rough bark against her neck and head, as well as her back where the axe had ripped her clothes open. She could hear the wind in the leaves above, as well as the occasional call of a night bird. She could feel pain – in her chest, her head, her back. Finally, she could smell the night air, the life of the trees…and something she had never smelled before. Something that smelled like blood and death.

The last smell frightened the injured girl in a way she didn't like to think about, but she knew she recognized it; it was the smell of the one who had saved her from death, or worse, at the hands of a giant. That was why it was so dark here – he must have carried her deeper into the forest. That stench of death told her that he was nearby, or had been recently.

"Hello?" she called softly, darkness swallowing her words. "I…is anyone there?" her words came out weak and breathy. She sounded like a helpless child, and she hated that. Though it hurt her to do so, the girl straightened herself and called out once again, her tone stronger and more demanding.

"If you _are_ there, please speak to me." She did not phrase it like a question. Still, she was greeted only by silence – not even the sound of breathing came to her. That smell was the only constant, and it was not fading. The one in blue armor was here, but he was not responding. As much as she tried to fight it, the girl felt a cold wave of fear wash over her.

That deathly stink continued to disconcert her.

The girl did not intend to sit there, questioning the void, for the rest of the night. She began to reach out, feeling the soft grass that cushioned her. She was just about to try and make it to her feet when a quiet but grating voice floated out of the nothing.

"_Do…not…move._" Was all it said. It was a man's voice, a man with something very wrong with his throat. It sounded rough and gravelly, cold, and sharp. Past the voice, the venomous way he spoke conveyed an air of menace that caused the girl to stop groping about immediately. However, the fact that he _had_ spoken gave her some hope.

"Oh…I am sorry…" she faltered slightly, then tried again. "Ah…who are you, sir? I…my name is-"

"_I care not for names._" The knight interrupted, bluntly. He paused a moment, then continued. "_Nor do I require your gratitude._"

"Then why did you-" she started, before being cut off once more.

"_Astaroth was my prey, as you were his. When I took the beast's soul, I took yours as well, little human._"

"My…soul?" the girl wondered again if she might not be dead, after all.

"_You should not speak so much, human._" In the dark, the girl heard the metallic sound of the man gesturing at her. "_Your body is broken, and movement may undo what I have done to keep you from falling apart completely._"

The girl did not quite understand what he meant until she felt the tightness around her stomach. Closer inspection found that the bandages around the upper portion of her torso had been removed and fashioned around the lower part of her ribcage. The sash that had been keeping her kimono closed was also missing. Now glad of the impenetrable darkness, she pulled her clothes around her a little more securely. She could not be considered a particularly self-conscious girl, but the thought of being out cold while... anyway, she didn't like to think about it.

"Oh…" she said, glad that no one could see her face reddening, "Thanks."

"_Your gender is meaningless to me, human._" The knight growled, seeming to read her mind. "_I did only what was needed to keep your pathetic body from destroying itself. I took no pleasure in it._"

For some reason, the girl felt her face grow redder. Despite the fact that the man had forbid her to move, she still felt curious about her immediate surroundings. Surely there could be no harm in just feeling around a bit. This thought in her mind, the girl slowly and quietly lifted her hand and reached forward, expecting to feel only air.

Instead, her palm quickly came into contact with something cold and smooth. She jumped a little, though not nearly as much as she did when a fiery red eye flashed open just inches from her face. Her gasp of surprise was quickly cut short by the icy claw that instantly snapped into position around her neck. The grip was firm, but not choking; she could breathe, but nothing else.

The eye pressed in closer, so that the girl could now hear – and smell – the man's ragged breathing. His gaze was horrific…she could feel the eye searching her soul, piercing her heart. Then he spoke, his voice a trembling roar of rage and…something else.

"_**HOW YOU TEMPT ME, HUMAN! I FORCE MYSELF TO REFRAIN FROM YOUR LIFE, AND YOUR ANSWER IS INSOLENCE?! TROUBLE ME NO MORE, LEST I TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!**_"

The girl's eyes squeezed themselves shut at the onslaught of malice, hot tears spilling down her freckled cheeks. She did not dare shake for fear of what might be done to her, but the hand around her neck simply released. When she finally found the courage to open her eyes once more, the red orb still hovered before her – but the soul-consuming hatred had left it; its stare had softened, changed. When he spoke again, it was as if someone else was speaking through him, though it was the same man.

"_Now rest, girl. You may very well kill yourself before you force me to do so._" His tone sounded almost kind, as if his voice and his words were out of sync with each other.

The eye disappeared, the breathing faded, and the girl's mental exhaustion pushed her back into unconsciousness.

She would not awaken until fifteen hours later.

The girl was dreaming; at least, she was pretty sure that was what was going on. She had no recollection of waking up, but she now stood in the middle of a grassy plain, staring out over the waves of green at a small collection of houses that sat at the bottom of a softly sloping hill. Then, suddenly, she was standing at the edge of the little village, and the sky had turned from shining blue to dark purple.

It wasn't night, but early morning – she didn't know how she knew that, but she did. A small noise caught the girl's attention, and she looked towards its source; in the doorframe of one of the houses was a tiny bundle that squirmed and let out a pathetic crying sound. As she watched, the sky quickly brightened and an old man came shuffling out of the door, almost tripping over the little package.

The man then bent over, letting out a groan of exertion as he did so, and picked up the little wiggling thing. With great care, he peeled back layers of cloth, revealing the bundle's true identity; it was a pudgy-faced infant with strange yellow eyes and a downy layer of bright red hair. The tiny creature mewled softly and tried to grab the man's wiry gray beard.

After simply staring down at the child for at least a minute, the man seemed to snap back into reality and, yelling something, ran as fast as his old legs could carry him back into the house. A clamor of voices came from inside for a few minutes before the man, followed by a few others, who all spoke to each other in excited voices, emerged from the doorway. No one seemed to notice the girl standing in the middle of the village, watching.

Time sped forward again. The child had been adopted by a young couple who, until this point, had been unable to have any children of their own. The girl had been given the name Kamikirimusi, after a local bird with bright red feathers that resembled the baby's hair. The "parents", as well as the whole of the village, were so excited at the arrival of the infant that no one ever took much notice of her odd, catlike eyes.

Years passed now, though there was no real passage of time. The girl having the dream was now watching a group of young children (the oldest of them could not have been more than eight) playing some sort of extremely unorganized game with a small cloth ball. The group consisted mainly of boys, except for the smallest one, a redheaded girl who now looked to be about five years of age. Though the boys were bigger than her, it was obvious she was stronger and much quicker; she seemed to win every game.

The boys were humiliated, of course, to be so often beat my a tiny girl, but she did not gloat; every time the girl triumphed at their games, she would gleefully applaud her opponents' skills and sweetly ask to play again. Sometimes she would hold herself back and let the boys win just to see them smile and laugh and exchange juvenile banter with each other. The boys accepted her as one of their own, and more than a few of them entertained childish crushes on her.

She was the kindest and best-loved youth in the village, by child and adult alike. Even the girls, who felt obliged to be jealous of her because the boys would chase her rather than them, loved to listen to her renditions of the stories her "father" would tell her every night before bedtime. The girl could not have imagined being happier.

Time passed once more until Kamikirimusi – called Kami for short – had begun to grow into a young woman. The older girls had told her of strange things that would happen to her as she grew, but they could not have prepared her for the changes that would happen in her own body.

One night, Kami felt something like a couple of small bumps on her head, hidden underneath her wild red hair. The girls had told her of many frightening things that would happen…but this was not one of them. She tried to keep it a secret, even when the bumps became hard and pointed.

One day, when the girl woke, she found that the protrusions had grown so long as to sprout from her hair like little spires of bone, and she could hide them no longer. It was strange, but she could never have imagined the reaction the others would have.

She went to her parents that morning, hoping to gain insight on her condition. She began to speak to them, but stopped short when she saw the horrified looks on their faces.

A week later, Kami lay on her bed, trembling. The previous days had been nothing short of hell; the boys' playful teasing had been replaced by fearful glares and hatred. The adults, usually so kind to her, had shunned the girl from their shops and homes. Her "parents", who had been revealed as her adopters, were the only ones who would still give her food and shelter. They had stopped speaking to her in public (not that she went outside much anymore), and her father's stories had ceased.

It wasn't until one rainy day, under a hail of mudballs and pebbles, that the girl learned what had brought about the children's hatred. The boys, the ones who had been her friends just days before, screamed things at her she didn't understand. Monster, people-eater, _demon_ they called her, their faces mangled into portrayals of rage and fear.

Kami's guardians had never told her the legends, stories of monsters with horns growing out of their heads who decimated villages and devoured innocents. The children had been raised on these sorts of tales, mostly to keep them from disobeying their parents lest they be "gobbled up", and whether the beasts were real or not the children had found one of them, and in their midst no less. They no longer cared that she had once called them her friends – they were controlled by their fear.

And the worst was yet to come.

Just a few weeks later, the villagers' hysteria reached its climax. One night, while the girl and her family slept, a small mob of older boys snuck over to her small home. Without any ado whatsoever, they struck a flint and set the house on fire. The girl slept near the front of the building, and had been woken by the sound of malicious whispering, but had been unable to stay awake…until she woke once more to her room burning down around her.

Kami had emerged from a destroyed side of the house then, half-asleep and half-dressed, her home an arsonist's dream behind her. The mob, which had been hiding behind a nearby hut, set upon her like a pack of wolves. All memories of her humanity had disappeared from their minds; the boys showed no remorse as they threw the girl into a puddle of thick mud and attacked her.

The girl's cries for help were ignored by those who had not participated and unheard by her adopted parents; they had long since perished in the flames. Her tears and blood mixed with the mire as the friends she had grown up with kicked her, pummeled her with sticks – one of them had tried to grab one of her horns and snap it from her skull.

Then, just as quickly as the horror had begun, it ended. A heavy rain had begun to fall, and what had once been Kami's home was now a dying, smoking ember. The cruel creatures that called themselves humans had gone, leaving the one they had called a monster to die in the mud.

In her dream, her nightmare, Kamikirimusi wept.


	4. Necessity

There was something odd about this human.

Nightmare had not noticed it at first, when he had been ready to destroy her without a thought, but no he had been given time to contemplate. A normal human did not possess these strange bony spikes growing from the head like she did, nor did they possess such large, slit eyes. When he had been treating her wounds, he also discovered a muscle structure unlike that of any human female he had ever seen.

Perhaps she was _not_ simply human; perhaps this girl was something more.

Putting her back together was much easier than he had supposed at first. Her injuries were great, but nowhere near as great as they should have been. Whatever this girl was, she was definitely more durable than most.

And so, now that the girl was once more asleep, the knight sat. He no longer slept, not because he refused to but because he could not. When he had been human his body had been weak, frail, had needed rest constantly. Now his body was superior, fueled by death and hatred and hunger. So he sat, a silent sentinel, watching his quarry's chest rising and falling softly. He sat, stoically observing, for the rest of the night and day, until she started to struggle.

He was alerted, at first, when the girl let out a tiny whimpering noise. Her body stiffened and rolled to one side as she began to curl into a tight ball. Gasping, choking noises emanated from her now shivering form and quickly escalated into desperate weeping. Nightmare did not move, only watched.

She must have been dreaming. Briefly, Nightmare wondered what horrors occupied the little creature's mind. Because he could not sleep, the knight could neither dream nor remember what it had been like to do so.

Still, it did not hold his thoughts for long as the girl was quickly coming back to wakefulness. As he sat motionless, the girl opened her eyes and blinked a few times at the salty which filled them. The girl coughed feebly and, groaning at the effort, managed to push herself back into a sitting position. She squinted for a moment, shook her head back and forth, and returned her gaze to Nightmare.

"_You are awake._" He stated, simply.

The girl nodded sleepily. A long pause followed as the two stared at each other, unblinking. It was the knight who spoke next, breaking the silence.

"_Do you know of me, human?_" his tone was even.

Her large eyes scanned him once before she responded.

"Yes."

"_Hm. Many do,_" he said, shifting his weight and leaning forward slightly, "_but I see no fear in your eyes, girl. I do not often see that._"

The girl remained silent, obviously unsure of what to say – but Nightmare expected no answer. There was now a more important issue to be addressed.

"_How long has it been since you have eaten?_" he asked. Immediately he knew he had asked the right question; the girl's luminescent eyes widened and she sat up a little straighter. She sniffed.

"I, um…I don't remember."

The knight knew that she had told the truth; he could tell just by the look of her that the girl had not eaten for several days, at least, and the night before had no doubt intensified her appetite. He could almost hear her mouth watering.

"_You are hungry, then?_"

She nodded again, more energetically this time.

"_Very well._"

Reaching into a bush next to where he sat, Nightmare produced a small animal of some kind – he had not bothered to take note of its species – which had been crudely skinned. He held it out for a moment, watching a small amount of blood seep from the little corpse, then tossed it to the girl. She caught it and, without a moment's hesitation at something most humans would have been disgusted by, tore into it like a ravenous animal. The knight noticed that her teeth, more specifically the canines, were sharper and more pointed than those of a human.

Very quickly, the animal had been reduced to a scattered pile of small bones. The girl licked her lips and cleaned her face with one swipe of her left sleeve in a motion that caused her to even further resemble a cat. When she looked at Nightmare again, he could see that a considerable amount of color had returned to her face, and her eyes had brightened a little. She still looked hungry, but no longer appeared to be ready to keel over from starvation.

"_There is a town,_" Nightmare said, pointing an armor-encased finger in a seemingly random direction, "_Some miles off. You could probably acquire sustenance there._ _I would be unwise to allow my servant to expire from something as simple as lack of food._"

"Then…you will-"

"_Yes,_" the knight replied, his armor creaking and shedding tiny flakes of rust as he stood, "_I will. Now come, little human – it is best that we travel by night._"

The girl did her best to comply, pressing her hands against the marshy ground and attempting to push herself to her feet. She strained for a moment before collapsing even further and beginning to breathe heavily. She was still too damaged to get to her feet under her own power. The girl was determined, though; after a few seconds she tried again, with similar results. She did not appear as if she intended to ask for assistance, and probably would not ended her efforts had Nightmare not reached down and wrapped a massive claw around her shoulders. The malformed hand almost enveloped her entire torso, then lifted her to her feet. She landed, slightly surprised, on her feet, wobbled for a moment, then steadied herself.

As soon as the girl had regained her balance, she looked up into the knight's face. Her smile as she gazed into his dark visage could have been called radiant, even beautiful…but the knight had neither the ability nor the want to recognize such a thing. He could appreciate only blood, and death, and slaughter – he was numb to emotion. He simply glared at the girl, red eyes both cold and burning, before retrieving his sword and beginning the trek to the nearest bit of civilization.

***

The town of Pilgrim's Bastion was a quiet one. Sitting at the bottom the slope of a grassy hill, it was barely noticeable unless one knew what it was they were looking for. The town's main purpose, as indicated by its name, was as a sort of rest stop for travelers; the few who lived there year-round ran the various shops and hotels from their homes, earning income from the wanderers who passed through. Over the years, the town had grown more obscure and out of the way; fewer and fewer visitors came each year.

The town was still relatively prosperous, though – people still lived there the shops were still active, and travelers still wandered through often enough. It was a quiet place, and those who lived there were glad for it.

In the void of night, the sleeping town took no notice of the bulky figure trudging through a grassy field toward the town's farmland. The thing's clanking footsteps were softened by the lush green blades so that only a soft swishing noise marked the figure's passage. A beam of moonlight struck the creature for a moment, illuminating it in a shimmering flash of dark blue.

Nightmare unconsciously looked down at the girl, whom he now carried. She had managed to totter most of the way before collapsing from sheer exhaustion, and the knight had been forced to carry her the remainder of the distance – not that it particularly inconvenienced him. The girl had protested at first, but when it became obvious that she could not move under her own power, he quickly hefted her and moved on.

The girl had been fast asleep for a while now, and her rhythmic breathing mixed with the ambient sound of the night. Nightmare had retrieved the hooded cloak she had been wearing and slipped her into it, so that what he carried now resembled an oversized potato sack.

As the hulking knight continued to lumber towards the little town, he noticed that one building's lights still remained lit, its windows still flickering dimly with candlelight.

***

Bartam Del sat in his private room, gazing out of its one small, dusty window. His hand lingered over the inkpot sitting on his desk, letting a little drop of black slip off of his quill and into the bottle with a soft _plip_. He took a passing glance at the empty sheet of parchment lying in front of him before shifting his stare back to the window's twisted representation of the outside world.

He couldn't see anything through the window. Too dark.

The old man paused a moment and touched his quill's nib to the paper absentmindedly. The sudden sound of a door slamming shut downstairs caused him to jump and almost fall out of his chair, which creaked in dry protest. Upon regaining his composure, Bartam realized he had accidentally scrawled a long, jagged line across the clean paper. He cursed quietly to himself and stood, letting his bones creak in a manner much like his chair.

Slowly and laboriously, Bartam exited the closet-like room, hobbled down an old hallway, and arrived at the apex of a thin staircase. The elderly man took a look down the stairs, groaned inaudibly, and began to make his way downstairs. He took each step extremely deliberately, giving each stair time to squeak with age. As he achieved the final step, Bartam straightened up and cracked his back.

"My apologies," he said, looking around his little inn's lobby, "I was just…ah…" the old man stopped short as he noticed what was lying on the wooden bench by the door.

Someone, enshrouded in a long, dark-colored cloak, was lying on the bench. No features could be seen; whoever it was had been covered from head to toe in cloth. A small bag, hung around the neck area by a leather strap, sat on the person's chest. The subtle smell of blood wafted from the cloak.

Forgetting his fatigue, Bartam practically ran to the bench and began to inspect the visitor. Upon moving the hood slightly, he found that a young girl resided within the shroud. She was asleep and, he thought, must have been brought by someone who had left rather hurriedly. When he opened the small sack on her chest, he found three small coins. Each coin was equal to the fee of one night's stay at his inn.

Quickly understanding, the old man pocketed the coins and closed the bag once more. He needed to get this girl into a proper bed for the night.


End file.
